


Amalgamation

by genmitsu



Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Drabble, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-09
Updated: 2017-12-09
Packaged: 2019-02-12 15:57:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 588
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12962955
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/genmitsu/pseuds/genmitsu
Summary: Jim's reaction to Oswald's choice of accessories.





	Amalgamation

**Author's Note:**

> Another Gotham drabble. Set after Season 3, I guess.  
> I have no excuse for it other than I love Oswald’s gloved hands. XD

The gloves are deep red when Cobblepot shows up at the precinct, a stark contrast to his all-black attire. Jim noted that it was kinda fitting, really, because everyone knew that the Penguin's hands were bloody. A thing to remember despite all his polite talk and outward innocuity.

The gloves are black next time, sleek leather with a slight sheen to it, and it fits again because everyone knew that the Penguin's hands are dirty with mob business and politics, and you couldn't even say what's worse.

Next time Jim sees him Cobblepot's wearing dark green. Despite the colour being on his hands only, it somehow brings out his eyes in Jim's mind, the colour of poison and snakes and toxic waste and Jim feels he might suffocate from acrid burning in his lungs just watching Penguin's hands.

The dark purple colour suits the king of Gotham underworld. Somehow his words are more sharp these days when directed at Jim. He also doesn't seem to want to linger in his presence.

The grey gloves invoke in Jim the thoughts of how his viewpoints, his actions, his everything blurred into this middle ground between black and white starting from that grey day on the pier. Cobblepot doesn't seem to be perturbed by Jim's gruffness anymore.

Brown almost looks friendly. A classic colour, something unshakeable as the earth itself. Something warm and comforting. But the lie of it is that it takes Jim only a moment to remember that he hasn't seen Oswald smile at him for what now seems like months.

Blue so dark it could be black somehow still seems too cold, like a deep winter night. Like Oswald's voice. Like his words, cutting with the severity of a northern wind. Jim is left shivering and no amount of hot coffee can warm him up.

Black. Red. Red, grey, brown, black, green, black. Never white. Oswald would never pretend to be clean, he wears his stains proudly, deliberately. Jim feels that each one is another piece of armour, another brick in the wall that just keeps rising and rising until he won't be able to see him anymore.

Next time Jim sees Oswald he slams him into the wall. He looks into his eyes, past irritation and disdain, into those cold depths so still now they could be frozen, and he brings Oswald's hand up and tears off the glove - black again. His breath hitches in his throat at the contact with Oswald's skin. So warm. So pale. Almost white.  
Jim brings the bared hand to his lips and kisses the knuckles softly. The sharp inhale is a sound of a piece of armour falling to the ground.  
Jim presses Oswald's hand against his cheek and melts into the touch. The skin is so soft. He looks at Oswald's face and the parted lips and dilated pupils are more armour bits falling away.  
He takes Oswald's other hand, still gloved, and tugs the leather off gingerly, his initial aplomb scattering as he looks into Oswald's eyes, searching, searching...  
It's when he takes both of Oswald's hands into his own, kisses them and presses them to his chest that the final piece of armour opens up and Oswald smiles at him, no malice, no ire, that first adoring smile Jim hadn't realized he's been missing this whole time.  
His heart skips a beat as he pressed his lips to Oswald's and they're warm and reciprocating and all the colours burst before his closed eyelids before dissolving into brilliant white.


End file.
